


your salt sea home

by kiyala



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Angst, Enjolras being terrible, M/M, Pining Enjolras, Selkies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-13
Updated: 2013-09-13
Packaged: 2017-12-26 11:11:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/965250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiyala/pseuds/kiyala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a sealskin hidden in the chest at the back of Enjolras' closet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	your salt sea home

Enjolras knows, before he even reaches the door. Their bedroom light is on, though the rest of the house is dark. His hand slips on the doorknob, his sweating palms and racing heart the only signs of his fear.

Grantaire is sitting on the floor, leaning back against their bed. His eyes are wet, his lock-picks scattered across the hardwood. Enjolras' gaze drops to the sealskin, to the way Grantaire's fingers twist in it.

"It was you." It's not a question, but it doesn't need to be. The evidence is there, right in front of both of them. Grantaire wipes his eyes with the back of his hand, and Enjolras remains expressionless.

Grantaire's shuddering breath is a knife to Enjolras' chest but to be fair, the first blow had been his.

He doesn't apologise, and he doesn't explain why he'd done it. Grantaire doesn't ask for either. He clutches the sealskin to him and slowly gets to his feet. Enjolras steps aside, because he can't stop Grantaire, and he won't try.

"I loved you," Grantaire tells him quietly, giving Enjolras a searching look. Perhaps he's looking for guilt. He doesn't find it. He brushes past Enjolras, their shoulders touching briefly. "I loved you with everything I had."

"I wanted you to," Enjolras replies, because there are no secrets anymore. He hasn't lied to Grantaire once, and blunt honesty isn't going to make this situation any worse than it already is. "I wanted you."

Grantaire barks out a laugh. "And I spent so much time worrying that you didn't want me at all."

"I love you, Grantaire." Enjolras cannot smile. He doesn't attempt to. "Goodbye."

Grantaire's eyes are wet when he turns away. He walks out of their house and down to the beach. Enjolras watches him from the front steps. Even from this distance, Enjolras can see the way Grantaire's shoulders are shaking.

He watches the waves take back what he'd stolen from them, and feels no guilt. Behind him, the house is dark and empty.

 

_**Five years previous.** _

"This is Grantaire," Bahorel says, at one of their meetings. He's guiding a stranger into the back room of their favourite café, holding onto his arm. "I found him wandering on the beach this morning. He can't quite remember where he came from."

Grantaire walks unsteadily, like he's still getting used to the ground beneath his feet. His eyes are the blue of the sea in the middle of a storm, and he looks lost. Enjolras tries not to think of the sealskin locked away in the chest, hidden at the back of his closet.

"Pleased to meet you, Grantaire," he says. He indicates one of the empty seats around the large table they're all sitting at. "You… don't remember?"

Grantaire shakes his head slowly, shoulders hunched. His gaze doesn't leave Enjolras once. "It's… it's complicated, and confusing."

"He's staying with me while we try to sort things out," Bahorel speaks up. He glances at Feuilly. "Uh, I mean…"

"Yeah, sure, invite people to live with us while I'm at work," Feuilly mutters, but he grins and places a hand on Grantaire's shoulder. "We'll clear up some of Bahorel's shit so you actually have some space to sleep, yeah?"

"I've got a spare room," Courfeyrac offers, "since Marius moved out with Cosette last week."

"And Bossuet never sleeps in his own bed anyway," Joly adds cheerfully.

"I already said he's staying with me, didn't I?"

"One minute in and everyone's already fighting over you," Jehan comments with a smile.

Grantaire manages a smile in reply. His gaze flicks back to Enjolras, and away once more.

"You're all scaring him," Combeferre scolds. He offers Grantaire a hand to shake. "Sorry, this must be overwhelming. I'm Combeferre. You've already met Bahorel, and as he said, that's Feuilly. Marius is the one sitting over there with Cosette, he'll notice you when he's finished gazing adoringly at his girlfriend. That's Joly and Bossuet. This is Jehan. Please ignore Courfeyrac—"

"— _Hey_ —"

"—And this is Enjolras."

Grantaire blinks, his gaze settling on Enjolras once more. In a small voice, he says, "Again?"

They laugh, and settle around the table to share drinks and take turns introducing themselves. By the time they all head home, Grantaire is joking and laughing with the rest of them, and has learned all of their names. Within a week, it feels like he's always been there. He fits in with the rest of them perfectly and most of the time, Enjolras can look at him without feeling the slightest bit of guilt.

Two and a half weeks after Bahorel first brought Grantaire to join them, Enjolras finds him at the café early. He's standing on the veranda, leaning against the wooden railings. His chin is resting in his hand as he looks out to the sea.

"Good afternoon," Enjolras greets quietly, standing beside him.

Grantaire quickly turns around. "Enjolras."

Leaning against the railing beside Grantaire, Enjolras watches him. "You looked lost in thought. Sorry for interrupting."

"I don't mind at all," Grantaire replies, and sounds like he means it. He smiles, but it wavers. "I was just… I was trying to remember who I was before I came here, I guess."

"No luck?"

Grantaire smiles and shakes his head. Enjolras places a hand on his back, just lightly. He's warm. Solid. Human.

 

_**One day after Grantaire leaves.** _

"What the _fuck_ do you mean he's gone?" Bahorel demands, pacing the length of their usual room in the café. Everyone is there. Everyone but Grantaire, and his absence is like an open wound. "Everything was fine and then he just… just… what? Got up and went away without so much as a goodbye?"

Enjolras is so very tired of keeping secrets.

"He was—is a selkie. He found his sealskin. He left."

"You can't fucking expect me to believe that," Bahorel tells him, and none of the others look convinced either.

Enjolras shrugs. There's an unopened bottle at the space on his right. Grantaire's. He reaches for it and opens it. "He's gone."

Bahorel stops pacing. "A _selkie_."

"We live by the sea," Enjolras replies, not knowing how to explain. "Stranger things have happened."

"When did he tell you?" Bahorel asks, his tone cautious. Enjolras doesn't reply. When Bahorel speaks again, his voice is low. Dangerous. "When, Enjolras?"

"He didn't." Enjolras' lips brush the mouth of the bottle as he speaks. "I knew. From the beginning."

A heavy silence falls over the room as they all process this. Then Bahorel grabs him by the front of his shirt and throws him against the wall.

"You fucking _bastard_."

Everyone else watches in horror, and Enjolras knows that it's not because of the way Bahorel is hitting him, or the way he isn't defending himself.

He knows he deserves it. He still regrets nothing.

 

_**Four years previous.** _

Grantaire is missing a part of himself; he struggles to deal with it, unable to talk to anyone about it, finding solace at the bottom of bottles. Enjolras watches him, the guilt eating away at him. He can fix Grantaire's shaking hands, his bloodshot eyes. All it would take is a key, a chest, an apology that will most likely go ignored.

Marius is fighting with Cosette, and Grantaire is the one comforting him. Grantaire is the one who befriended both Eponine and Gavroche, bringing them to the group. Grantaire doesn't hesitate to purposefully knock Courfeyrac and Combeferre into each other, in the hopes that they'll take the hint.

Grantaire is needed here. Enjolras tells himself that he's keeping Grantaire on land for everyone's sake. They all need him.

"That's enough for today," Enjolras says, pulling the bottle from Grantaire's hand and keeping it out of his reach. "No, don't give me that look. I promised Bahorel and Feuilly that I wouldn't let you get too drunk tonight."

"I'm going to drink for as long as I'm here," Grantaire mumbles unhappily, and Enjolras knows he's only referring to here and now, but he also knows that it's true on a much bigger scale.

"Then walk with me." Enjolras stands. "Where do you want to go?"

They end up on the beach, cold and windy this late at night. They walk close to each other, until Grantaire stops and turns to the water. Enjolras stops behind him. In the light shining from the street some distance away, the sea is dark and wild. Like Grantaire.

"This is going to sound stupid," Grantaire mutters. "But I feel like I belong out there."

Enjolras' heart sinks. "In the sea?"

"And if that sounds fucked up to you," Grantaire says, "I can't even bear stepping foot in the waves. I don't know what's wrong with me."

"Nothing," Enjolras replies. He touches Grantaire's hand gently. "I don't think there's anything wrong with you."

Grantaire's gaze snaps up to him, surprised. "Enjolras?"

Enjolras should know better than to taunt the sea, but he should also know better than to steal from it. He kisses Grantaire right there on the beach, the cold wind blowing around them; kisses Grantaire until he kisses back, until their arms are around each other and the chill of the night is nothing to them.

The sea sends a storm to the land, but Enjolras hides indoors, with Grantaire. He listens to the raindrops pelting against his windows and pulls Grantaire closer, kissing him again and again, until he doesn't know anything else.

 

_**One week after Grantaire leaves.** _

Combeferre finds him walking along the beach in the afternoon. Enjolras isn't looking out at the waves but he supposes that he doesn't have to. There's nothing to look for.

Bahorel hasn't spoken to Enjolras for the entire week and Enjolras doesn't blame him. Joly treats him with caution. He can't quite decipher the thoughtful looks that Jehan gives him, and he isn't quite sure he wants to.

"How are you?" Combeferre asks, leading him over to one of the benches by the path.

"No different to what I'd expected," Enjolras replies. At Combeferre's raised eyebrow, he shrugs. "I knew I couldn't except him to stay. I knew he'd find his sealskin. I knew that he would leave, that he would resent me for keeping him here for as long as I have. I'd resigned myself to all of it."

Combeferre sighs quietly. "And you did it anyway. Was it worth it?"

"Yes." Enjolras doesn't hesitate, doesn't need to think about it. "I knew the consequences, but… I loved him, Combeferre."

"You know," Combeferre murmurs, "until Grantaire, most of us didn't even think that you had the time for love. Yet, all this time…"

"Love makes you distracted and selfish. It narrows your entire world down to one thing, and one thing alone." Enjolras sighs, looking at his hands. "Or perhaps that's just me."

"I thought Grantaire made you a better person."

Enjolras lets out a laugh at that, sharp and filled with self-loathing. "It was the complete opposite. He made me terrible."

"What will you do if he never returns?"

"I don't expect him to." Enjolras looks at the sea. It's calm today, satisfied by what it has, what Enjolras has lost. "I had the chance to say goodbye to him and that's already more than I'd ever expected. He would always choose the sea over me and I knew that. I don't deserve anything different."

"There's nothing you can do?" Combeferre frowns. He doesn't like this any more than Enjolras does. "Nothing at all?"

"I loved him for five years. He loved me for perhaps three. That's all I can ask for, and I'm thankful for that."

"You think he loved you for _three years_?" Combeferre gives him an incredulous look. "Grantaire loved you from the moment you met. Everyone could see that."

Enjolras' heart aches. There are so many things he could go back and change, if he only had the chance. He still wouldn't change the fact that he'd hidden the sealskin in the first place.

"Well, it's too late for any of that," he murmurs, half to himself.

Combeferre puts a hand on Enjolras' shoulder, offering him sympathy he doesn't deserve. Then again, he's already in the habit of taking things that aren't his.

 

_**Three years previous.** _

It's amazing, just how many belongings Grantaire has managed to accumulate in two years. There's all of his art material, his books, his clothes, every little trinket he's kept from the seaside markets and presents from the children in his weekend art classes.

They take forever to pack and it takes twice as long to unpack and find places for all of them, but Enjolras doesn't mind. He's finding places for Grantaire's things among his own, letting Grantaire into every little part of his life. This isn't Enjolras' house any more, it's _theirs_ and neither of them can stop smiling about it.

Once they've finished unpacking, they settle on the couch in each other's arms. Enjolras has made coffee but their mugs sit cooling and and forgotten as they kiss, bodies pressed together.

"I love you," Grantaire gasps against Enjolras' mouth, fingers going to Enjolras' hair and pulling him down. "I love you so much."

Enjolras murmurs the same, repeating it against Grantaire's skin over and over as they undress each other.

They fuck on the couch and then again in their bed. Enjolras holds Grantaire down and thrusts into him, loving the way his name sounds when Grantaire moans it brokenly. They lie in each other's arms afterwards, tired and sated. Grantaire sleepily kisses Enjolras' shoulder and wraps an arm around him.

Not even two metres away, the chest is sitting at the back of their closet, hidden under Enjolras' clothes. He pushes it from his mind and turns onto his side. He traces his fingers over Grantaire's face, over his forehead, his nose, his lips.

"Love you," he murmurs, then says it again for the way it makes Grantaire smile. Grantaire has to silence him with kisses until they're lying there, foreheads touching, not even trying to hide the smiles on their faces.

 

_**One month after Grantaire leaves.** _

There's a large, empty chest sitting in Enjolras' closet. He pulls it out into the living room and begins to fill it. He puts Grantaire's clothes at the bottom, then his books, then all of the trinkets and presents, that have only multiplied since Grantaire first moved in. He puts the art supplies away, but hangs the paintings up. He puts one on every wall and when he runs out of space, he gives them to the others. He gives Bahorel the most, in apology, and Feuilly accepts them at the door, a sad look in his eyes.

He gives the paintings away until there aren't any left and there will never be any more. He goes home and wonders how this place ever felt small enough for one person, how he ever thought he was prepared for the day that Grantaire would find his sealskin and leave.

Eponine won't even look at Enjolras and Gavroche is upset and lonely despite his other company. Gavroche, who Grantaire would sit with, their hands completely covered in paint and charcoal and whatever else they could get their hands on. Who learned to draw and write and read, who taught Grantaire things in return, sleight of hand, lock-picking, how to get to things when people wanted to keep him away from them.

Their meetings have a different tone without Grantaire; they'd all come together before him but they've since reshaped themselves, found a new dynamic, and now it's gone. Some don't show up and most are quiet.

Grantaire's seat, on Enjolras' right, remains empty.

 

_**Two years previous.** _

Marius and Cosette are married, and having their first dance barefooted on the sand. They both look incredibly happy and Enjolras watches on, Grantaire's hand held in his own.

They're all down to their shirts and vests. Grantaire has his sleeves rolled up and Enjolras can see the curling ink on his forearm from the tattoo he'd gotten months ago. It's black and white and his own design, sea waves that curl over his bicep and down his arm. Enjolras loves it, but can't help the way it terrifies him.

He doesn't have the time to think about that just now, because Grantaire is pulling him forward, one hand taking his own, the other resting on his side.

Grantaire glides, his steps smooth and certain despite the uneven sand, despite the fact that sometimes he's still a little unsteady as he walks, sober or not. It makes sense, Enjolras supposes, that he is graceful and breathtaking this close to the sea.

They dance until it is too dark and too cold to stay outside. Grantaire takes Enjolras by the hand, leading him home and kissing him at the door.

"I have something to tell you," Grantaire says quietly. "It's weird and… I really don't want to freak you out but it's important, okay?"

Enjolras' heart quickens but he keeps his expression blank. "Of course."

"Look, it's…" Grantaire sighs, unlocking the door and holding the door open for Enjolras. "You know how I keep saying that I feel like I belong out at sea? How I don't really know what to say about who I was before Bahorel found me?"

Enjolras leans back against the door, nodding slowly.

He knows what Grantaire is going to say next; he can see it in the bright, sharp look in his eyes.

"What I'm trying to say is…" Grantaire blinks, and his smile is nervous. "I'm trying to say that it doesn't matter. I don't—I don't know, maybe I don't belong out in the sea after all. Maybe I belong here. With you."

"Grantaire?" This is so different to the conversation Enjolras had been expecting that he doesn't know what to say.

"Look, I'm not asking you to marry me or anything like that. It's just that I love you, and you feel like home. I just. I want to stay with you. I want to be wherever you are. Is that okay?"

"Grantaire…" Enjolras takes his face in both hands and kisses him hard. "Grantaire, fuck, I never want you to leave me. I want you right here. Always."

"Okay." Grantaire laughs, sounding relieved, and that is the moment that any guilt lingering at the back of Enjolras' mind promptly disappears. "Okay, good. I'm staying. I'll be right here. I promise."

 

_**Six months after Grantaire leaves.** _

Putting his life back together feels like mending a broken painting. There are splinters that stay under Enjolras' skin, pieces that will remain lost forever, meaning that he can no longer find. It's a slow, unsteady process; sometimes things fall into place. Other times, the pieces scatter everywhere and weeks, months of progress is lost.

Bahorel is speaking to Enjolras again, starting with monosyllabic responses and progressing from there. The tension isn't completely gone, but Enjolras blames himself for Grantaire leaving. He expects no different of his friends. Eponine manages short exchanges with so much hate in her eyes that Enjolras knows never to expect anything more.

Trying to continue his life without Grantaire makes him realise just how much time they'd spent together. Enjolras had built his life around Grantaire, like a cage, without even realising and it's empty now. He can't stand the loneliness but he has even more difficulty with company because it's not Grantaire, and that's his fault.

He takes to reading books by philosophers he hates, to make up for the lack of arguments. He fights his way through novels he can't stand, sitting by the window, torturing himself every time he looks up for a break and is faced with the sea. Until one afternoon, he looks up and sees a head of dark, wild curls among the waves.

The book falls to the floor as Enjolras dashes outside, not caring that he's left his door open, not caring about anything as he runs down to the beach. The waves are cold and push against him, and he's chest-deep in the water before he realises that he's alone. Grantaire is gone—was probably never even here at all, and Enjolras' mind is playing cruel tricks on him.

He hasn't cried once since Grantaire left, hasn't felt a single ounce of regret for what he'd done. Now, standing in the sea, it crashes over him like a wave. He lets go of his expressionless mask—he doesn't need it here—and it doesn't matter that Grantaire is far, far away and will never hear him, will never even want to listen to him.

"I'm sorry," he tells the waves, the sea foam, the salt water. "I'm so sorry."

 

_**One year previous.** _

"Enjolras…" Grantaire's voice is slow and cautious. Enjolras looks up from the book he's reading. He can hear the frown in Grantaire's tone. "Why is there a huge chest at the back of our closet?"

Enjolras can feel his stomach sinking. He puts his book down and walks to their room. His clothes are folded and sitting on the bed. Grantaire must have moved them out of the way.

"I hit a hard edge when I was putting stuff away," Grantaire explains. "Sorry. I was just curious. What's in it? It's got a fancy padlock and everything."

In all this time, Enjolras has never lied to Grantaire. He's told half-truths, but never lies. He isn't particularly keen on starting now.

"Something I never want to look at again," he says. "Something I have to keep."

Grantaire raises an eyebrow at Enjolras. "It's not a dead body, is it?"

Enjolras grimaces instead of forcing a laugh. "I'm sure that a body would start to smell."

"You're right." Grantaire sniffs exaggeratedly. His expression suddenly changes.

"I hope you're putting those clothes back," Enjolras says, clearing his throat, the dread making his palms sweat.

"Yeah." Grantaire sounds distant. "Sure."

 

_**One year after Grantaire leaves.** _

He should leave. He should pack his bags and move somewhere far from the sea, so he can stop torturing himself like this.

He can't, and he supposes that it's a fitting punishment. He's stuck here, just like Grantaire was. Staying here means remembering Grantaire with every breath of salty sea air but moving away means forgetting, and he can't do that.

None of them have gotten over Grantaire's absence, although the group has slowly knitted itself back together. Cosette is pregnant and Marius is panicking about being anything less than a perfect father. Combeferre and Courfeyrac are wearing matching silver bands. Jehan has moved in with Bahorel, and Feuilly has started living with Eponine and Gavroche. Enjolras finds himself wanting to update Grantaire on all of this, wondering what he would have to say.

The seat beside Enjolras' remains empty. Everybody else knows better than to sit there, because Enjolras will glare until they move.

"It's been a year," Bahorel says, catching up with Enjolras as they all leave one night.

"I know that. It doesn't change anything."

Bahorel frowns at him. "You're not…"

"I'm no better than the day he left," Enjolras replies. "I loved—I wanted him to be mine enough to do anything in my power to make him stay. I know I shouldn't have, I know that I am incredibly selfish. I felt strongly enough to do something terrible, and that's not the kind of feeling that fades easily. If at all."

Bahorel places a hand on Enjolras' back and sighs. "You're really fucked up."

Enjolras laughs bitterly. "I know."

He walks home alone and the paintings on his walls greet him as he walks inside. Even now, he can still imagine Grantaire's footsteps on the hardwood floor, his laugh echoing through the house. Enjolras lies in their bed and it still takes hours for sleep to come, but there's nothing he can do but wait.

He wakes up exhausted, but drags himself out of bed anyway. He starts his day with a long walk along the beach, keeping his head bowed so that he doesn't spend the entire time watching the sea. He doesn't know why he does this, but chalks it up to the peculiar brand of masochism he's been indulging in lately. He's so absorbed in his thoughts that he doesn't even realise that someone is standing in his path on the way back home until he nearly runs into them.

"Careful there."

Grantaire's voice makes Enjolras freeze and look up. He's wearing the same clothes he'd left in, and his hair is dripping, hanging down into his face, weighed down with all the water. It's a good look on him. One that Enjolras hasn't seen for a year.

He stares, not knowing what else to do. "…Grantaire."

"We need to talk." Grantaire's expression is shuttered. "Is that okay?"

"I didn't think you would ever want to talk to me again."

"Yeah." Grantaire smiles without humour. "I used to think so too. Can we sit?"

They pick a bench by the path, keeping some space between them as they sit. Grantaire's gaze doesn't leave Enjolras' face once.

"When I left," Grantaire says quietly, "I thought that I would never want to see you again."

Enjolras keeps his eyes fixed on his shoes. "What changed your mind?"

"Time," Grantaire replies. "Distance. Not a single day passed without me thinking of you and missing you. I hated you for it. _Hated_ you."

Enjolras remains silent. Grantaire sighs loudly and runs a hand through his hair before remembering it's wet. He wipes his hand on his shorts.

"To me, the sea is… well, it's home. It's where I belong and being away from it was like missing a limb. Finding out that you were the one keeping me away was the worst thing in the world because—Enjolras, you were the biggest source of happiness in my life and this meant you were also the biggest source of _pain_."

"I'm sorry," Enjolras says quietly.

"So then I left," Grantaire continues, "and if being away from the sea was like missing a limb, being away from you was like not being able to breathe. I couldn't stand it, but I couldn't return either. Not after what you did."

Enjolras nods numbly, not knowing what to say, not knowing if Grantaire even wants him to say anything.

"Then Bahorel kept telling me about how badly you were doing."

"Bahorel?" Enjolras frowns. "How?"

"I'd visit him sometimes. I'd sneak onto the land when you weren't looking—and you made it difficult sometimes—so I could catch up with him. Feuilly, Joly, Bossuet and Eponine too. Then Jehan, when he and Bahorel started getting serious. Kept my sealskin with me this time around. I didn't really want Combeferre, Courfeyrac or Marius to know, in case they told you."

"You didn't want to see me."

"I really didn't." Grantaire laughs quietly. "I couldn't help asking about you though. Every single time. I'd brace myself to hear that you'd moved on, that you'd forgotten me, but that never happened."

"I couldn't let go," Enjolras tells him. "I wouldn't."

"And that was our whole problem right there," Grantaire says with a wry grin. "But I'm here now. If we can't let this go after all this time, well…"

"You're coming back?" Enjolras asks disbelievingly.

Grantaire shrugs. "I like being in the sea, but I need to be with you, more than I need anything else in the world. I'm not exactly happy about it, but I love you. Maybe if this didn't hurt you as much as it hurts me, I'd feel differently, but the fact of the matter is…"

"I love you," Enjolras tells him. "I never stopped. I know that you deserve someone _better_ , someone who won't want to keep you, the way I did—"

"Well, you don't have to worry about that." Grantaire reaches out, taking Enjolras' hand in his. "I want you. I don't want to be something for you to keep, and I don't want us wondering if I'll someday return to the sea. I've said my goodbyes this time, and I gave my sealskin up so I could have this. Have you."

"You… Grantaire, _what_?"

"I'm not going back to the sea," Grantaire tells him. "I'm not leaving it, either. I'm staying here, and if we can sort our problems out and make this work… that would be good."

Enjolras stares at him. "You'll let me… you _want_ to fix this?"

"This isn't going to be easy. You know how bitter I can be."

"Bitter as sea foam," Enjolras replies with a small smile. "I don't want you to make this easy for me."

"And I don't want your self-flagellation. Jehan tells me you've grown fond of it."

"You still hate me. At least a little."

Grantaire nods. "But I love you more."

Enjolras laughs, and makes no attempt to hide the way his eyes well up. "I want you to stay. The last time you promised you would—"

"—I didn't know that you'd stolen my sealskin." Grantaire pulls Enjolras close. His tattoo still curls down his arm and Enjolras doesn't know why it makes him so happy. "Things are different now."

"Yeah." Enjolras lets Grantaire tilt his chin so their lips are nearly brushing. "They are."

Grantaire kisses him, soft and gentle, and it feels like the first breath Enjolras has taken for an entire year.

**Author's Note:**

> This was heavily inspired by _Still Catch the Tide_ , written by Talis Kimberley and sung by Seanan McGuire. Lyrics can be found [here](http://www.talis.net/songs/stillcatchthetide).
> 
> And thank you to [pie](http://piecrmbs.tumblr.com/) for your help and encouragement, as always. ♥


End file.
